


But In The End- Don't Ask Why

by drummer_boy



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Ghosts, Self-Harm, Suicide, Supernatural Elements, please read with precaution!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7017385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drummer_boy/pseuds/drummer_boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael knows his heart doesn’t work anymore. It’s stopped beating decades ago. But then, why was he starting to feel again? It hurt him to see Ashton fall apart right before his very eyes, and all he could do was watch.<br/>It scared him, in all honesty.</p><p>Or, Michael took his own life many years ago, but gets the chance to save someone else’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But In The End- Don't Ask Why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another new fic whilst I've got two other unfinished ones! Yay!!
> 
> I've written and re-written this fic so many times since I came up with the idea, so please tell me if you'd like to read more and tell me if it sucks (because I'm honestly not sure if this is any good or not).
> 
> Title from The Girl Who Cried Wolf by 5 Seconds Of Summer

Michael plays with the bracelets around his wrist when he hears the front door slam shut with a loud ‘BAM’. Alarmed, (and slightly worried because _holy shit_ I just  _felt_ something!) he peeks through the floor to see that it was indeed Ashton who’d caused the noise. Michael feels himself calm down again. He isn’t even sure why he got scared in the first place; it’s not like anything could hurt him, he didn’t exist. He doesn't get the chance to think about it further, because shortly after he hears soft sobs through the floor.

They only get louder, and Michael feels the worry flood back immediately. He quickly floats down through the floor and approaches Ashton, who was sat against the front door, with his face buried in his arms. He was crying. _Shit. I’ve never seen him cry, fuck, what do I do!?_  
It’s not like he could do much, anyways. He’s _dead_. Invisible. Ashton doesn’t know he exists and he probably never will. But _fuck_ he was crying silently, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear, it nearly broke Michael's heart. Michael sits down in front of the boy hesitantly, he wasn’t sure how to react, really. He felt so awkward sitting there while _he can’t even see me or hear me why am I acting like this? Why do I- why do I suddenly care about him?_

  
He was sure that if his heart could still beat, that it’d be beating in his throat right now. He takes a deep breath and raises his hand slowly, laying it on Ashton’s shoulder. Or, that’s what he tries to do, anyway; his hand phases right through, just like every other time Ashton had unknowingly walked through him. It was never going to be any different.  
Ashton shivers, and looks up. Dry tears were stuck to his face and his red, puffy eyes scanned the room. All of a sudden Michael was scared that he might see him. That he _knew_. He let out a sigh of relief when Ashton got up and walked through him, still shaking ever so slightly. He watches Ashton climb the stairs and go into the bathroom, but stayed put. What was happening to Michael? He hadn’t felt like this in _years_. Heck, he hadn’t even _felt_ in years.

  
Before he could think about it any longer, Ashton emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly better. His eyes weren’t red anymore and it was clear that he’d washed his face. Michael quickly shook the thoughts from his head. He could deal with this another time. If he wanted, he could literally postpone it for  _decades,_ what was he even worried about? He got up and followed Ashton into the living room. Michael watched as he turned on the tv and made himself comfortable on the couch. He couldn’t help but think about what’d just happened. Ashton had always seemed like such a bright, happy person. He never cried, never got angry. Who or what had caused him to come home like this? Michael knew he worked at a music store, and that he absolutely loved his job. What had happened to him?

  
Michael sits down in front of the couch and leans his head on his hands, absentmindedly watching the movie that was playing. He didn’t know what exactly was happening, the pictures and things on the screen were far to modern for him to (want to even try to) understand. His mind kept wandering off and all he could think about was _Ashton Ashton Ashton_. Soon enough he hears soft snores behind him, and Michael knew Ashton had fallen asleep. He smiles as he looks at Ashton’s sleeping figure, the boy looked so peaceful and happy. The way Michael knew him. The way he _should_ be. Michael wanted nothing more than to cuddle into him, or pick his small-looking figure up and tuck him in into his queen-sized bed. Michael closes his eyes and lays down, waiting for the sleeping boy to wake up again and fill the house with his bright energy again.

He was always excited about _something_ , he always had something to do, things to write, songs to play.  
Maybe that was what made Ashton so different.

  
Well, it was painfully obvious that Ashton was different from the past owners of the apartment. But he was a _different_ kind of different. All the people who had lived here previously (Which, okay. Only two people have lived here before Ashton, but it still counts) weren’t as _unique_ as Ashton. The first person to rent this place after Michael was a guy in his mid-forties, and he did nothing but read books about philosophy and play games of chess with himself. He rarely went outside, and Michael wasn’t used to the whole being-dead-thing yet, so that made it extra weird for him. One day, the man went outside to get groceries or something of the like, and never returned. It wasn’t until movers came in to remove most the stuff, and moved boxes and boxes of other things in that he knew somebody else had rented the place.

  
That must’ve been, what, ten-twelve years ago? Michael couldn’t remember. All he knew is the lady who moved in was just as boring as the old man had been. She did nothing but crochet day in-day out, and the longer she stayed, the more old-timey the place was starting to feel. The lady, who must’ve been _at least_ 65, used to have a pet dog, but he passed away pretty soon after their move. When the lady wasn’t playing classical music on an old gramophone record player, it was eerily silent in the house. Michael got tired of it rather quickly. The old lady passed away herself one night after what felt like an eternity, and Michael couldn’t help but feel a little relieved once he saw a young guy struggle move his drum set inside. He knew right then that he would bring a little life back into the house.

  
A new start.

  
And until now, Michael hadn’t been quite sure what to think of his roommate (which he technically was). Ashton had seemed like a cool guy; he played drums, guitar, _and_ keyboard, he wrote poetry and was into photography, he wore the silliest hats and practiced some hilariously bad dance moves when he thought nobody was looking. The music he listened to was quite similar to what Michael used to blast through his speakers, and on top of that Ashton had the brightest smile and the most infectious laugh, and managed to look both ridiculously cute and insanely hot at the same time. Especially when he was playing his heart out on the drums and Michael watched, even though it kind of made him miss being able to play music himself.

  
He clearly remembers one time when Ashton had two friends over (it wasn’t even that long ago, probably a couple of weeks, but time tends to get mushed together when you’ve been dead for so long), Luke and Calum. And though Michael still isn’t sure who is who, they make some pretty good covers together. That particular time they were playing _Welcome To Paradise_ by Green Day, and Michael had sung along loudly, no shame when nobody can hear you. He was surprised he still knew the words, and doing so made him feel nostalgic. He’d bought the band’s new album as soon as it came out way back then, and he’d played it non-stop, until his neighbors were knocking on the walls, telling him to pipe it down.  
Michael couldn’t help the slightest hint of pride when he heard the three boys play the single.

 

Alright, so maybe Michael  _does_ like Ashton. A little bit. He won't admit it, though. Not that he's afraid anybody will find out, no. All his friends have forgotten about him by now and turned into people in their forties with boring nine-to-five jobs.  
Michael was okay with it, really. He didn't age.  
Though the past _decades, was it? Has it been that long already?_ weren't particularly outstanding and exciting, Michael had to admit that Ashton intrigued him. His taste in music, especially. And Michael knew that things would change while he was stuck inside the small appartment, but the  _music_ and the  _clothes_ especially, caught his attention. He hates to admit it, but he likes quite a few of the artists that made an appearance on Ashton's playlists, he often jammed along to them when Ashton wasn't wearing headphones.

What intrigued Michael about the clothing was that it hadn't changed that much at all; The jeans were considerably tighter than he thought was comfortable, but the band shirts and bracelets Ashton wore were definitely similar to Michael's. Even Ashton's friend (Luke or Calum, he's not sure) often wore white longsleeve shirts under other shirts, and the combat boots that that kid wore were  _definitely_ the same as the shoes Michael's been wearing all this time.

Michael is sure that if they'd been alive at the same time, that they would've been great friends.

But that was just it, they  _weren't_ alive at the same time. Michael was dead and forced to watch Ashton live his life, getting a taste of what  _could have been_ but wasn't. It was torture.

~~~~~~~~~~

The front door slams shut again and Michael shoots up from his position on the floor. He rushes into the hallway where he is met with Ashton who immediately breaks down crying. This time, however, he doesn't curl up on the floor, no. He drops his stuff and runs upstairs towards his bedroom. "It's not _fair_!" He sobs softly, but loud enough for Michael to hear. He follows the boy upstairs, curious and worried. He hears Ashton slams his door shut and finds him on his bed, head buried in his pillow.   
Michael awkwardly sits down next to his bed, hoping that his sheer presence can somehow make Ashton feel better. He sits and watches. Listens as Ashton's heavy breathing slowly calms down. Michael thinks the boy is about to fall asleep, but then he turns and lays on his back, facing the ceiling.

"It's not fair." He whispers. "Why do I have to be like this? I can't be- I shouldn't feel this way."  
Michael listens. He knew that this was way more serious than he'd originally thought.  
"I just. I don't want to be weak. I've got so much to do, it's so much pressure to- And Luke, oh God, he needed my help with stocking today and I didn't even send him the files and  _shit_. My mum's birthday is soon and I won't even be able to fucking  _call_ her because of all the fucking bills I can't pay and- But it's my fault. I've been neglecting my job and this is what I get for it. But I can't work overtime next week I can't _I can't_  do it." Ashton turned around so he was facing the side where Michael was sitting.

"Why am I complaining? I've got a great life. People have it so much worse than me, I'm just overreacting." He sighs. "I thought moving here might be a new start for me. New house, new job, new me, right? Why does this have to happen to me?"  
Michael knows his heart doesn’t work anymore. It’s stopped beating decades ago. But then, why was he starting to feel again? It hurt him to see Ashton fall apart right before his very eyes, and all he could do was watch.  
It scared him, in all honesty, but his feelings could wait. It was Ashton who needed help, not him.

Something about the situation felt familiar. Michael couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it didn't feel good. Ashton's eyebrows were knotted together in a frown, deep in thought. And even in the dark of the room, Michael could see the tears falling from his eyes. Jusging by the way the boy struggled to keep his eyes open, he was about to fall asleep. Michael didn't relax until he heard Ashton's soft snores. He didn't wish it upon the boy, but he couldn't deny reality. Michael knew exactly what Ashton was dealing with, he'd dealt with it himself, after all. 

"Hey." He spoke up hesitantly. He knew Ashton couldn't hear him, but it still felt odd speaking out loud (and he was scared that somehow Ashton  _could_ hear him and that he just pretended he couldn't- though that was ridiculous and Michael knew it).  
"It's going to get better, okay? Tell someone. I promise you they care. They'll want nothing more than to help you."

  
Ashton keeps turning and tossing in his sleep, and Michael doesn't think he's ever worried about anyone as much as he does now. He gets up and puts his hand on (through) Ashton's forehead, hoping it might calm him down.  
He shivers, but stills his movements, much to Michael's delight -and surprise. Michael wishes he could take Ashton's shoes and jacket off for him, sleeping like that couldn't be comfortable. So he sits back down and watches him. He thinks and hopes and  _prays_ that the boy won't end up like him. If only he could _do_ something.

"You're not alone, Ash. Talk to me if you can't find anybody else."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Do tell me what you think of it so far. This might be a bit of a strange fic, but I've got great plans for it! If only one person wants me to update it, I will. I've got everything planned out and I'll make sure I've got time to write everything out.
> 
> Talk to me on Tumblr: [@clrummer-boy](http://www.clrummer-boy.tumblr.com)


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